The Trouble with Bach
by Lula Ripley
Summary: After "The Confession" Sydney wants to move on with her life and include Vaughn. Just when it looks like that might be possible, Anna arrives to cause some trouble.
1. Chapter One: The Trouble with Bach

1 Email: writerlms@msn.com  
  
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Website: www.isnt-it-romantic.net/home  
  
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Feedback: Writer's don't require petty things like food and water; they live off your gracious feedback… so do me a favor and FEED ME! ;)  
  
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Distribution: Sure thing, just please e-mail me and let me know where I can find it.  
  
Disclaimer: Alias, Sydney Bristow, Michael Vaughn and all related components are owned by ABC and Touchstone, and were created by JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions. Please accept this as high praise and do not sue me. ;)  
  
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Summary: Following "The Confession" Sydney decides to move forward with her life and would like Vaughn to play a more active role in it. This was also inspired somewhat by spoilers for "The Box."  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Classifacation: Romance, Drama, Action/Adventure  
  
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7 The Trouble with Bach  
  
7.1 Chapter One  
  
Did he have any idea how long it had taken her to work up the courage to ask him about the Bach concert? Going up against Anna, running avoidance patterns, disabling nuclear bombs were nothing compared to asking Agent Michael Vaughn out on a date.  
  
"Sydney," he had said. "You know we can't do this."  
  
"I'm starting my life over, Vaughn. I'd like you to be a part of it."  
  
The world-class grin appeared, but his eyes were more concerned with a speck of dried paint on the warehouse floor. "We have a job to do."  
  
"We're people, Vaughn. When do we get to be people?" she asked.  
  
He glanced up, just a hair, and looked at her under those long lashes. "When the job is done. When SD-6 is destroyed. When people like Danny stop dying to further the twisted plots of men like Sloane."  
  
This time it is Sydney who contemplates the paint splotches. "So we're sacrificial lambs. Giving up everything that makes us human so that others can enjoy their own personal freedoms."  
  
Vaughn laughed. "Well, those aren't the precise words they use in the CIA brochure, but I think I read it in the fine print somewhere when I signed on. I imagine you read the same when you thought SD-6 was on the level."  
  
Sydney kicked a dilapidated cardboard box across the floor and crossed to the filthy window, cover with chain link. Her fingers griped the rusty metal in frustration.  
  
"Sydney, move away from the window." It was a quiet order, but an order nonetheless.  
  
She didn't budge, but rather stared out at the endless blue sky bitterly; as if it's vibrant color mocked her mood.  
  
"It's not safe, Sydney. Move away from the window." Vaughn insisted.  
  
He was coming up behind her now, slowly but deliberately. Yet still she did not move.  
  
"All those people out there, relying on us to do something so extraordinarily impossible. If they only knew that terror doesn't just come in the shape of a foreigner from the Middle East, it can be as innocent as a mother to a child."  
  
Vaughn placed a hand on her shoulder. "Sydney…"  
  
She shrugged as if to knock his hand loose, but he refused to move it. Instead his grip tightened on her shoulder and he turned her to face him. "You are not your mother."  
  
"I may as well be," she muttered, looking away. "How can you even look at me? How can you not see *her* and the unspeakable things she did to those agents, to your father?"  
  
"Come away from the window, Sydney." He reached down and took her hand and pulled lightly.  
  
Her eyes scanned down her arm until they rested on Vaughn's long masculine fingers securely wrapped around her hand. It was inexplicable, the feeling of having a man hold her hand, to see a man's fingers wrapped around her when it wasn't a life or death moment. When she didn't have to consider twisting the digits to cause horrific pain or swallow down the wave of nausea as she did when Sloane touched her.  
  
She took a step away from the window; amazed at how easily Vaughn moved her…and how easily she was moved by him.  
  
"You think I don't want to spend time with you because of your mother?" he asked. When she did not respond he added, "Don't you get it? I think you're amazing. I think everything about you is beyond explanation…your drive, your passion, and your ability to remember every detail from Francie's wedding caterer's number to the formula for antitoxins. Don't you think there are days that I wish I were just another guy? Days that I wish I could drop by and share a pizza with you or take you to my favorite Jazz club?"  
  
Sydney swallowed hard and looked up to meet his pleading eyes. "Are there?"  
  
"Every day Sydney." He squeezed her hand. "Every day, I find something I wish I could share with you. But then I realize that I can't risk national security to call you to tell you that "Breakfast at Tiffany's" is playing on cable at one in the morning."  
  
She laughed and thought how nice it would be to sit and watch it with him. Did he like "Moon River" too? Sydney let go of his hand. "So we are punished…forced to a live a life where we can't choose our own friendships."  
  
"You have Francie…and Will," he added, hesitantly. "And you have me. I may be your handler, but I'm also your friend."  
  
"My secret friend," she scoffed. "Whom I can't even talk to in public without averting my eyes."  
  
Vaughn took a seat on the crate in front of her and took her hands in his, then looked up to meet her eyes. "I'm looking at you now. And I'm here, to talk to about all of this stuff, Sydney. The stuff you can't talk to anyone else about, don't forget that. I'm glad I can be that person for you. And you can do the same for me."  
  
It wasn't enough, but it would have to be.  
  
The next day was brimming with activity. It was her full-load day at school. Two classes. She laughed to herself at what the other students would think of her calling two classes a full-load, but she was barely juggling that much. In between 8 a.m. Management and 3:30 p.m. Business Law she had to rush to SD-6 for a briefing on her trip to Istanbul the next day. Of course, that would be followed up by a dead drop to the CIA and then even later a meeting with Vaughn to discuss her counter-mission.  
  
That night, as she was packing her carry-on, the phone rang. "Joey's Pizza?"  
  
"No sorry, wrong number."  
  
Francie called in from the living room. "We really need to think about having our phone number changed. That's really getting annoying."  
  
Sydney froze and yelled back, "Uh…yeah, I know, but I think it's probably a bigger hassle to deal with the phone company." She smiled as she entered the room. "Maybe we should just start taking pizza orders."  
  
"You're right." Francine agreed. "Too much hassle. You're off again, are you?"  
  
"In the morning," she nodded. "I should be back by Thursday afternoon."  
  
"But you definitely have two weeks from Friday cleared, right?" Her smile was nervous. She was fiddling with a bunch of small reply cards from the wedding and looking at a large poster board diagram of the wedding reception.  
  
Sydney approached her friend and gave her a light squeeze. "Nothing will keep me from your wedding. I promise."  
  
As Sydney wrapped a scarf around her neck, Francie added. "Hey, you didn't mark down anything about a date." She held up Syd's reply card.  
  
"No."  
  
"The thing is…I'm pretty sure Will *is* bringing someone."  
  
"Jenny."  
  
"Yeah, Jenny. I thought maybe you might want to invite a friend…from work maybe. Maybe that guy from the office who bought you that beautiful frame."  
  
The frame, Sydney mused silent, the frame that Vaughn bought that held the picture of her mother. How twisted.  
  
"Syd?"  
  
"Huh?" she asked. "Oh, a date. Um, no I don't think so."  
  
"Well," Francie said, "you can always change your mind, they'll be plenty of room."  
  
***  
  
Sydney flipped through magazines at the small bookshop, looking for something to preoccupy her on her flight. Clever tag lines like, IS HE MR. RIGHT? and SECRET LOVES, HOW TO KEEP THEM THAT WAY glared at her from the covers of Cosmo and Vogue.  
  
"You don't really read that trash do you?"  
  
She quickly placed the magazine back in the rack and picked up TIME. "No. I was just trying to look busy," she said. "It's all a pack of lies anyway."  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"I didn't go to spy school for naught, you know," Vaughn teased. "Something's upset you. Something happen at home? Is everything ok with Francie?"  
  
Sydney smiled briefly at his thoughtfulness. "Fine. She's busy planning out the seating chart for the reception. I get to sit with the photographer, Charlie's single Aunt and her "good friend Trish," she made her fingers do the "quote" thing, "and any other outcast who decides to respond without a date."  
  
"What about Will?" he asked, thumbing through a copy of Popular Mechanics.  
  
"Will?" she blushed. "Will's bringing Jenny."  
  
Vaughn smiled widely, unseen by Sydney. "Jenny? Don't think I've heard about her."  
  
She decided not to elaborate. "Let's get back to Istanbul. What's my counter mission?"  
  
"This one's easy. No switches, no photos…SD-6 is on their own with this one, it's not something we want to get our fingers into. But we will accept whatever information you bring back and store it away for future use."  
  
Sydney shrugged. "Hardly worth the trip, Agent Vaughn."  
  
"No?" he asked, reaching over her for a copy of Newsweek, purposefully grazing her shoulder with his forearm. "Well then maybe this will be." He dropped an envelope in between the pages of Time.  
  
"What's this?"  
  
"A little personal freedom." He put his magazine back and turned to leave. "Be careful, Sydney."  
  
When she turned to look for him, he was gone. She fingered the envelope but didn't open it, opting instead to slide it into her purse for later perusal. 


	2. Chatper Two: A Night at the Opera

1 Please see info and disclaimers at the heading of Chapter One. Thanks for the great feedback so far! I promise more action/adventure romance to come.  
  
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3 The Trouble with Bach  
  
Chatper Two  
  
What a relief Istanbul had been. No hidden agendas, no snags, no unforeseen obstacles. A truly cut and dried dash and grab operation. If it wasn't for the fact that she was working for SD-6, Sydney could almost feel good in knowing that she had done her job so well. As it was, at least the CIA was getting some information that might prove useful down the road.  
  
Back in the comfort of her apartment, she folded her legs under her on the sofa and snacked straight out of a box of crackers. Her favorite sweats, rolled up at the ankles and an old college t-shirt sure were a lot more comfortable than the sex siren costume she'd had to don at the embassy party in Istanbul. The juxtaposition of her two selves was completely idiotic. The aristocrat she'd snuggled up to while obtaining the security code would not likely even offer her the time of day if he stumbled across her now.  
  
"You look comfortable," Francie said, as she secured a diamond earring.  
  
A warm smile crossed Syd's face. "I am, you know. I really am. *This* is what it's all about. Cheez-it's and a good movie."  
  
"I think you're right. Maybe I'll skip this dinner with Charlie's parents and stay here with you."  
  
"What? And waste that totally classic look you've got going? How could any parent not beg you to marry their son after seeing this ensemble?" Sydney teased her, but in truth her friend really did look every part of the lawyer's wife.  
  
"Oh," Francie suddenly remembered something. "Did you happen to still have that brochure the wedding planner gave us? The one with the picture of the cake we picked?"  
  
Sydney reached to the floor next to the sofa and grabbed her purse. When she opened it to retrieve the brochure, she also grabbed the envelope Vaughn had dropped her. She'd been in such a hurry to finish packing and catch her flight she'd forgotten about it.  
  
"Here you go," Sydney said, now suddenly preoccupied. "I'm sure your mother in law will love it."  
  
"You just got back and I'm leaving you," Francie pouted. "Maybe I should stay."  
  
"You're looking for excuses." Sydney shooed her away playfully. "Now go before you keep them waiting. You're gorgeous," she called after her as Francie headed out.  
  
The moment she heard the click of the door lock, she ran her fingernail under the lip of the envelope and pulled the contents free. A ticket. La Traviata at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. It was dated for Friday night, tomorrow, and there was only one. A small note was attached. Sydney opened it and stared at the long narrow strokes of Michael Vaughn's handwriting. How strange to see something hand-written. Their lives were filled with non-descriptive text…but this note was intimate, it was him.  
  
It read:  
  
Bach was an impossibility…I've been known for my connections, but even I couldn't score a ticket to that concert. When did Bach become the grown- up's NSYNC? Anyway, I thought this might be a suitable substitute. It was always a favorite of my mother's and though the hockey player in me hates to admit, mine as well. Please go, you deserve something elegant.  
  
It was signed simply with a "V".  
  
He'd bought her a ticket to the opera. She didn't know if it was completely depressing, the thought of going alone, or the sweetest gesture anyone had ever made to her. He wanted her to have something elegant. It was his way of telling her she was normal.  
  
She would go. How could she not?  
  
She held the ticket up to her nose, as if it still held the scent of him. It was impossible, but she could swear she could detect the faint smell of his cologne and Ivory soap. Chalking it up to her trained intelligence nose, she settled in for her evening of lazy television watching.  
  
Sydney scanned the channels, flipping by each at the speed of light. She was skilled to spot something interesting at a mere glance; the art of scanning the television dial was not an exception. Nope… no Breakfast at Tiffany's tonight.  
  
Just as she settled on a rerun of Charlie's Angels, the phone rang. Her heart jumped. Please let it be a wrong number she thought. Wrong numbers had recently taken on a whole new meaning.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"How was your trip?"  
  
"What?" She was just about to ask, 'Vaughn, is that you', when she remembered the danger of wiretaps. "Oh…hi," she smiled widely and wondered if it transferred through the telephone line. "My trip was boring. I'm glad to be home."  
  
"How are you feeling? I mean…I know you were a little down the last time we talked." He was playing the part of a concerned friend.  
  
"I'm feeling suddenly much better," she said, again holding the ticket up just under her nose, then for just a split second against her lips. "I just got the greatest gift from a dear friend."  
  
"Did you?" He teased, "Should I be jealous?"  
  
"No," she said a bit sadly, unconsciously wrapping the slack of phone wire around her finger. "It's a wonderful gift, but unfortunately I'll be using it alone."  
  
"Maybe you could tell me about it," he suggested, "share it."  
  
"Maybe I will," she agreed. "What are you doing calling me at 10 p.m. on a Thursday night for anyway? Don't you have some place wildly exciting to be?"  
  
"Do I strike you as the kind of guy who has somewhere wildly exciting to be on a Thursday night?"  
  
She laughed out loud. "No, I guess you don't."  
  
"I'm was just watching TV… hanging out in my favorite sweats and wondering what my favorite banker was up to this evening."  
  
"Talk about irony. I'm doing the exact same thing, minus the banker part."  
  
Somehow the image of Vaughn sitting at home in his comfortable clothes was very seductive. Seductive? Did she just say Vaughn was seductive? It wasn't possible. She was thinking of him in terms of her handler, maybe even a good friend, but seductive?  
  
"Turn on Channel 36," he suggested.  
  
She aimed her remote at the television and pressed in the appropriate digits. Nick at Night, she knew the channel well. "What is it?" she asked, but recognized the old rerun of Bewitched right away.  
  
"I used to love this show when I was a kid," he said. "Something about Samantha Stevens…man, was she sexy. Every boy in school was suddenly very interested in witchcraft and Harry Potter wasn't even a gleam in an author's eye."  
  
"I used to watch this every day after school. Mom would have cookies and milk waiting and we'd tune in while she put dinner in the oven for Dad." Sydney caught herself. Good memories about her parents seemed like a huge betrayal of something, someone… Vaughn perhaps, and what had been taken away from him. "I'm sorry," she added, her voice filled with grief.  
  
"Sydney," he said, in complete sympathy. "That's a nice memory. You should hang on to it. Besides, I stopped on this channel because she reminds me of you."  
  
"Of me?" Did Vaughn just tell her in an around about way that he thought she was sexy? Naw, it couldn't be. Vaughn was her handler, her friend, he didn't think of her that way.  
  
"Yeah," he gave a small snicker. "You're the only other one I know who can get out of impossible circumstances just by wiggling your nose."  
  
She let out the breath she was holding. "Yeah, um, it usually takes a bit more than nose wiggling."  
  
"You make it seem that simple," he said, with a heavy dose of sincerity in his voice.  
  
"Samantha didn't have a guardian angel."  
  
"Well," he said, uncomfortable with her praise, "I think I'm going to let you get to sleep. You must be exhausted."  
  
"I'm glad you called." And she was. It was so comforting to think that she might be able to think of him in terms of more than just a voice on the other end of an earpiece. Though Francie and Will were good friends, no other person on the planet could relate to her the way Vaughn could. He was the only one who knew her for everything she was and everything she fought her heart and soul to change. "Goodnight…my friend."  
  
"Goodnight, Sydney. Sleep well."  
  
***  
  
She stared at her reflection in the mirror and had to admit, she looked pretty, not sexy, not vivacious, not dangerous, simply pretty. It was so good to dress for something and not have to worry about where she was going to hide the mic or the key or the decoder. As she brushed on a final stroke of blush, she heard a familiar voice in the living room.  
  
"Hey, Syd," Will yelled, noticing the bathroom door ajar. "I thought I'd drop by and see if you were up for a few drinks at Cavanaugh's tonight."  
  
She stepped through the doorway and his jaw dropped. She wore a dazzling red dress tied daintily around her neck which fell perfectly straight just to the tips of her toes, which stuck out of matching strappy pumps.  
  
"Wow," he breathed.  
  
"Thanks," she blushed and fidgeted nervously under his scrutiny. "What were you saying? I couldn't hear you in there."  
  
"I was going to see if you wanted to hit the pub, but I think you might be a bit overdressed."  
  
"I'm—"  
  
"Where are you going" he interrupted.  
  
"The opera."  
  
"I didn't know you liked opera," he said, taking a perch on the dining room table. "Who are you going with? Francie?"  
  
"Um..no, I'm going alone actually."  
  
"Alone. You're going alone to the opera?" He scratched his head. "Why?"  
  
"Because I wanted to go and do something just for me." She walked over to the table and grabbed her small red clutch purse. "I know it seems odd, but for me it's just right. You probably don't understand."  
  
"You're right," he said, standing to meet her, just inches away. "I don't. Why didn't you tell me, I would have gone with you?"  
  
She held up her ticket. "Just one ticket. And like I said, I feel like doing this on my own. You understand."  
  
"Sure." But he didn't understand. He watched as she made her way across the room, stopping to pick up a black wrap on her way to the door. "I guess I'll let myself out then."  
  
"Goodnight, Will." She felt bad for leaving him behind. "Maybe we could try for the pub tomorrow night?"  
  
He nodded and waved her off, a bit dejected. "Enjoy the opera, Syd."  
  
***  
  
The valet showed her to her seat. She couldn't have picked a better one for herself. Vaughn, being an intelligence man knew that the end of the row would have been her first choice and the view was perfect. She could see everyone around her and more importantly tonight she could see every square inch of the stage.  
  
Verdi's tale of the consumptive Violetta and her paramour Alfredo played out before her like a bittersweet reminder of mistaken identities and misunderstandings. As complex and outrageous as their story was, Sydney couldn't help but realize that her own life would make the tragic opera pale in comparison.  
  
As the final Act commenced, Sydney watched as a distraught Alfredo begs Violetta to forgive him for doubting her and for almost taking the life of Douphol in his jealousy. He pleads with her to accept him back into her life. Sydney couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't a time when her mother might have renounced her misguided ways and begged her father for the same second chance. Tears streamed down her face as the lover's embrace. She reached within the small red purse to find a tissue, but comes up empty handed.  
  
Just then, out of the corner of her eye she noticed a flash of movement just behind her. She turned with slight trepidation, but quickly realized that it was simply a kind soul offering use of a crisp, white handkerchief. She turned slightly to accept the kindness of the stranger and was stunned to see the handsome face of Michael Vaughn. She had been so wrapped up in the beauty of Verdi's libretto she did not even sense his presence. Had he been seated there all along? Of course, it was his way of enjoying life's personal freedoms with her…only apart.  
  
He smiled as she accepted his gesture, dabbing gently at her eyes. As Violetta fell lifeless at the feet of Alfredo, Sydney's hand fell to the side of her chair and reached hesitantly back. In seconds it was met and held tenderly by her handler, her friend…by Michael.  
  
They stayed there like that, their arms stretched across the aisle between them, holding fast to something that was impossible. Watching the final moments of Violetta, as her demons are finally put to rest. Perhaps it was time for Sydney to do the same. Maybe with a hand to hold, it just might be possible.  
  
(More to come…) 


	3. Chapter Three: Sealed with a Kiss

The Trouble With Bach  
  
Chapter Three  
  
Disclaimer: Please See Header of Chapter One.  
  
During the diva's standing ovation she'd lost sight of him. He was behind her and then he wasn't. *Hm, she thought, for a desk jockey, Vaughn was very good at quick escapes.* It pained her a little to think that he had disappeared into the crowd. Sharing not only the tragedy of La Traviata but also their own sorrowful pasts was something she didn't want to conceal in stolen moments. For the first time in her life, someone understood every demon she ever fought, because he fought them as well.  
  
Wrapping her shoulders in the silk scarf, she headed into the dispersing crowd, cautiously scanning the masses for signs of her guardian angel to no avail. *He might have left a glass slipper,* she mused silently. Then she caught herself, *No, Syd, what are you saying? Are you saying the Vaughn is some sort of secret agent Prince Charming? Fairy tales have no place in the life of a spy.*  
  
Still, she couldn't help but be disappointed for his disappearance.  
  
As she rounded the corner to her SUV, she noticed something peculiar on the hood. Instinct told her to react cautiously. A bomb? Some kind of tracking device maybe? Yet as she got closer, the item came into clear view and caused her heart to pound. A rose… a single white rose wrapped with an iridescent ribbon, which held a small card. "Joy is born of life's tragedies. Beauty blossoms in the storm. V."  
  
"Syd?"  
  
She turned, and smiled widely thinking he had changed his mind and decided to deliver the bloom in person, but was shocked to find Will Tipin standing before her instead.  
  
"Will!" She tried to place the flower out of sight. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"I made it out to Cavannagh's anyway and after a few drinks, I noticed the time. Just right for seeing you home from the opera."  
  
"I have my car, Will." His excuse was flimsy at best.  
  
"Yeah, well," he shuffled his feet. "I guess I didn't think it through."  
  
"Are you drunk?" she asked.  
  
"Probably," he admitted.  
  
"Get in. I'll take you home. You can pick your car up tomorrow.""  
  
He walked towards her sheepishly, his hand reaching down to her side and picking the rose out of her grasp. "An admirer?"  
  
She tried in vain to take it back before he read the card, but it was too late. "Who's V?"  
  
"A friend," she said, stoically.  
  
"I thought I knew all your friends," he muttered.  
  
"Not this one. It's someone I work with," she said. "It's no big deal."  
  
"This is the frame guy, isn't it?"  
  
She again grasped for the rose and he tried to pull away from her, but not before losing his balance, too many beers taking their toll on his equilibrium. Sydney reached to steady him and caught him in her arms. Taking advantage of the closeness Will touched her face with his finger, stroking the contours of her cheek, her lips.  
  
"You need someone to take care of you," he said. "You think you're so strong, but I see it. It's just a matter of time before you admit it, Syd. One of these days you're going to have to open up to someone."  
  
He tried to kiss her and she pulled away, quickly righting him and pushing him gently to the passenger side of the car. "Get in," she ordered. "You need coffee."  
  
The truth was, he was right. Only Will could never be that someone.  
  
As she crossed back to the driver's door, she held the rose to her nose and inhaled its fragrant scent. Looking back to the now desolate Pavilion, she wondered where that someone had run off to. Did he have someone to go to? Someone who wanted him to open up to her just as Will asked of her? Had he replaced Alice with another girl oblivious to his real life?  
  
She opened the car door and slid in. It would do no good to wonder about things she had no control over. Taking her drunken friend home was a task she could handle. One step at a time.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Vaughn watched from a secluded corner of the parking lot as Sydney approached her car. Maybe he'd chance it. Maybe he'd get in and drive off somewhere with her where they could talk. Somewhere they could just be people. What were the odds that SD-6 had followed her to the opera? That they were watching her right this minute? This once, it couldn't hurt to be near her…  
  
He had just taken a step out of his hiding place when he noticed a man walking toward her. His hand automatically slipped inside his jacket to retrieve his gun. A cautious moment later he realized that she knew this man. She was smiling and nodding. He watched as the stranger staggered. "Drunk," he said bitterly. Something inexplicable grabbed a hold of him and made his blood boil when the stranger grabbed the rose from her hand and read his words.  
  
"Will Tipin," he whispered. Surely, it couldn't be anyone else. As he watched Will fall into her arms he had to stop himself from reacting. He wanted to help her. The gentleman in him would never have let her deal with a drunk on her own, but he knew it was not his place.  
  
More unaccountable feelings surged within him as he watched him stroke her cheek and brush his finger over her lips. The exchange didn't last long however, as Sydney quickly ushered him to the passenger seat. "Good girl," he said with a wry smile.  
  
Did she stop and smell his rose? Or was that his imagination? More importantly, where was she going with this drunkard Will?  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
An hour later, Sydney quietly slipped into the apartment, hoping not to wake Francie. Will's misguided attempts at expanding their relationship had her preoccupied. She should never have kissed him those months ago. He harbored some kind of misdirected brotherly affection for her and had started to think of it as romantic love. Eventually, they would need to air this out.  
  
She peeked in Francie's door as she made her way to her own room. Empty. So much for her tiptoeing. More than likely she was bunking with Charlie tonight. The instant she opened her door she sensed something was off. She bent and lit her bedside lamp, and quickly took in the radius of the room as she straightened. No, not right at all. To the naked eye it was exactly as she had left it, but she knew something was off. It was then that she saw the note on the mirror written in her own burgundy lipstick.  
  
"You have something I want…and I have something you love. Pier 34. 5 a.m." It was signed simply with an imprint of a kiss.  
  
"Anna."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Vaughn fumbled for the phone in the dark of his bedroom. "Hello?"  
  
"It's me," Sydney said.  
  
He sat straight up in the bed. "What is it? What's wrong? Did Will do something?"  
  
"Will?" She shook off his question. "I need you. It's urgent. Meet me at our usual spot in 20 minutes."  
  
"I'll be there." He was already dressing before the phone hit the receiver. Something was very wrong. Sydney would never break protocol unless it was an emergency. He on the other hand seemed to be breaking it for her in spades. Nick at Nite…La Traviata…white roses… What if his mistakes had caught up to her? He couldn't think about that now. Now, Sydney needed him. Feelings of guilt rose up in him as he realized whatever the urgency was; he was pleased because it meant he would be with her.  
  
When he arrived at the warehouse she was already waiting and pacing. "Sydney, what's going on?"  
  
"Anna has Francie," she blurted.  
  
"Francie? Your roommate, Francie? How? Are you sure?"  
  
"She left her calling card scrawled in red lipstick on my mirror. She says I have something she wants and Francie is her bargaining chip."  
  
"What do you have?" Vaughn ran his hand through his sleep tussled hair.  
  
"I have no idea, but I'm almost confident that it has nothing to do with Rimbaldi. This is something personal. I can feel it."  
  
"What are her terms?" he asked, then quickly added, "I should call Devlin."  
  
"No!" she rushed toward him. "Vaughn, this isn't some CIA operation. This is Francie! I'm not going to let the agency run this one. If you can't accept that, I understand. But if you want to help me…I need you Vaughn. Michael, I need you." Silent tears were streaming down her cheeks.  
  
Vaughn grabbed her by the forearms and pulled her in close. "Sydney, she's ok. Francie's ok." Oh god, his heart was breaking. How much could one woman possibly endure? Her fiancé, her father's deceptions, her mother's treachery and now her best friend. He pulled a bit harder until she collapsed against his chest. "I won't call Devlin. We'll do this together."  
  
She looked up at him; her eyes swimming in oceans of unshed tears. "We have to Vaughn. We have to."  
  
His fingers grasped her chin and held it fast to keep her eyes trained on his as he spoke. "I won't let anything happen to her, Sydney. I promise you."  
  
3:00 a.m. Sydney's Apartment  
  
Vaughn and Sydney were searching through her personnel things for any sign of something that might be of interest to Anna.  
  
"Think," Sydney demanded. "Anna…K-Directorate…KGB…it must be something to do with my mother, but what?"  
  
Vaughn sifted through a memory box filled with pictures, letters and clippings. Buried at the bottom was the frame he had given her for Christmas, it held a picture of a little girl and a beautiful woman who resembled Sydney. "Is this you, with your mom?" he asked.  
  
She turned away from the dresser drawer she was pillaging to look. Her face was crestfallen. "Yes. Vaughn, it's not the frame…I just, I needed some time before I could replace the photograph…"  
  
"You don't have to explain anything to me." He held the picture up to the dim light. "I like the pig tails," he joked, trying hard to break the very thick layer of ice.  
  
Sydney walked toward him and gently took the frame from his hand, looking at her own image. "I used to raid her jewelry box for barrettes, hair clips, beads, you name it."  
  
She quickly dropped the photo on the bed and ran to the closet, standing on a few discarded boxes to reach the top shelf. "Help me with this," she ordered.  
  
Vaughn was at her side in a moment, taking the very large ornate box from her hands. "Put it over there," she said, as she pointed toward the bed.  
  
They both stood over the box for a moment, as if admiring the craftsmanship. "I remember the day it came, though I couldn't have been more than four. Dad had it shipped by special courier while he was off on one of his many trips. Next to her books, it was the thing she treasured most in this world. The few jewels she owned meant less than the box that held them. I never understood why. I should have remembered this long ago."  
  
Vaughn placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, an offering of comfort he couldn't verbalize. "You think this is what Anna's after?"  
  
"Maybe… or maybe there's something hidden inside." Sydney opened the box quickly and dumped the contents onto the bed as if it were garbage. Each small compartment and drawer she pulled out and discarded among the pile of rings and bracelets. When it seemed like there was nothing left… no sign of a secret compartment or latch she caught sight of herself in the small vanity mirror. For a split second it was her mother's image she saw reflected there.  
  
Then in her minds eye she remembered a day from her childhood. She is looking at herself in the same mirror, clearly sneaking a look at the jewelry while her mother is out of the room. Her fingers are touching her reflection, dazzled by the sparkling earrings she has placed on her petite ears.  
  
"Sydney Bristow, didn't I tell you never to go into Mommy's treasure box unless she is with you?"  
  
Sydney jumps in the memory and in the present time. Her hands fly to the mirror and she turns it slightly. The mirror acts as a latch, which opens the lid to reveal a thin compartment. Inside is a sealed envelope with Cyrillic script inked across it.  
  
Sydney and Vaughn read it aloud together. "Espinosa Bristow Confidential Records, September 17, 1974."  
  
To be continued……  
  
  
  
See… I told you it wouldn't be ALL romantic angst. But take heart shippers, more Syd/Vaughn warm and fuzzies coming up. 


	4. Chapter Four: Black Coffee in Bed

The Trouble with Bach  
  
Chapter Four: Black Coffee in Bed  
  
3:30 a.m. Sydney Bristow's Apartment, Living Room  
  
Sydney was holding the recently discovered envelope up in front of her face, disbelief and confusion evident there.  
  
"Espinosa?" Sydney said. "I don't think I can take too many more surprises. Do you think my mother had connections with Anna's family?"  
  
Vaughn took the aged manila folder and inspected it carefully. "It is possible. You said yourself that Anna was one of the last of the KGB babies." He handed her back the envelope. "You going to open it?"  
  
"No." She took it from him and tossed it on the dresser. "I can't take any chances. I've got to assume Anna wants it intact. I can't risk Francie's life out of curiosity."  
  
Vaughn looked at a very worn and tired Sydney, then with one secure hand at the small of her back, guided her toward the cluttered bed. "We've got some time. Why don't you try and get a little rest before we have to leave?"  
  
Sydney raised her eyes to him, a mixture of weariness and gratitude there. "Maybe we should just go to the pier and wait."  
  
Vaughn gave her a small push toward the bed and brushed the photographs, paper and jewelry to the side. "Get a cat nap. I'll make sure we get there on time."  
  
She gave a small nod and sank into a sitting position onto the waiting mattress.  
  
"All the way," he ordered and again, gave her a gentle push until her head fell into the waiting pillows.  
  
Vaughn began to make his way out into the living room, when he was halted by Sydney's voice.  
  
"Where are you going?" she asked.  
  
"I'll make some coffee. I think we could both use some before we meet up with Anna."  
  
She raised her arm, a simple but grand gesture, beckoning to him. "Stay."  
  
Vaughn stood in the doorway; the demons fighting within him clear in the expression on his face. The woman he admired…desired more than any other was asking him to do something he had only managed to accomplish in his dreams. She wanted him by her side in her bed. Granted, it was a bit different than he had envisioned it.  
  
It was for comfort, he told himself. It was simply providing her with the warmth of a friend, the knowledge that there was someone there for her. He could do this. Her hand fell gently back to her side and her eyes dropped slowly closed. She was asleep for the love of god; it wouldn't hurt anyone if he did what she asked. She was asleep…she'd never know if he slipped out to make coffee.  
  
Coffee could wait a little longer. Slowly he made his way to the bed. Though he couldn't bring himself to lay down beside her, he sat vigil over her, his back propped against the headboard, one foot firmly planted on the floor at all times. "I'm here," he reassured her.  
  
As she slept, he marveled at the expression of peace on her face. He had never seen her so content… her face so free of worry. She was even more beautiful in slumber, if that were at all possible. A tentative finger reached out to brush a stray lock of hair away from her cheek. You deserve that peace, Sydney. He wondered when was the last time Sydney Bristow was truly happy? When was the last time that fear and doubt and sadness didn't plague her every minute? For that matter, when was the last time he had found such tranquillity himself?  
  
He had experienced a few moments of it earlier, holding her hand at the opera. And he hadn't felt such levity in years as he did when they talked on the phone the other night. Maybe their small moments of happiness could be enough until they had done their jobs well enough to earn a lifetime of it. "Someday," he whispered. "Someday I'll get you out of this and you can finally start living."  
  
Sydney woke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and for a split second thought that Francie must be up early this morning. She stretched and turned in her bed and jumped when she saw Michael Vaughn sitting beside her. She steadied herself as recollection flooded in and quickly put away the awkward sensual feelings that were surfacing. "It's time?" she asked.  
  
"We should get going, yes." He handed her a travel mug of coffee. "I made it for the road."  
  
"Thanks," she smiled and tentatively accepted the mug. "For everything, Vaughn…this is beyond your responsibilities as my handler." She rose from the bed and picked up the envelope off the dresser.  
  
Vaughn followed, stopping to place unsure hands on the tops of her shoulders. "Sydney…though psych would have me suspended for saying this…whether it's advising you on counter-missions for SD-6, listening to you talk about school or your dad, or helping you save Francie…I'm your friend first. Some would say that makes me ineffective as a handler. I think it makes me all the more effective. You're important to me."  
  
She turned quickly and wrapped her arms around him. At first, his hands remained poised in midair where they had rested on her shoulders, the shock of her contact not yet sinking in. But within moments he relaxed into it and wrapped his arms around her back, his hands brushing through the long silk of her bed-disheveled hair.  
  
Though it pained him to say it, they had to leave. He pulled her away enough to look her in the eyes. "It's time, Sydney. Let's go get Francie back."  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
It was still dark and there was a crisp cold in the air, the January Pacific waters lapped lazily against the wooden supports of the pier. It was deathly quiet, save a few warning bells of sailors getting an early start.  
  
"You see it?" Vaughn's voice whispered in her ear. Thankfully, she'd had a few spare surveillance items around the house, cleverly hidden. It comforted her to know that her partner on this case was so close, in more ways than one.  
  
"Yes, it's just a head. Houseboat…next to the small sailboat with the royal blue sails. Got it?" she asked.  
  
"I'm centering in on it….now. Got it." He checked the meter he held in his hands, a small makes-shift unit that measured body heat. "I'm reading two of them. Anna must be on her own."  
  
Sydney walked purposefully toward the houseboat, over the long gangplank until she was standing on the deck. "Stay with me," she whispered.  
  
"I'm right here," he promised. He dropped the meter and picked up a pair of high-powered binoculars. There she was, looking confident and stable. God, he'd never know how she always managed to keep it so together. Nothing shook her…well, nothing dangerous, at least.  
  
Sydney opened the nearest door and peered inside, the cabin was nothing but dark shadows and very little light. "Anna?" she yelled. "I brought what you were looking for…you ready to make a trade?"  
  
"Show me," she heard her nemesis order. "Hold it out in the doorway so I can see it."  
  
Sydney pulled the envelope from inside her jacket and held it out so that the early signs of daylight could make it visible to the woman inside. "What's all this about Anna?"  
  
"I heard you had some bad news recently?" Anna stepped out into the thin ray of sunlight that was filtering through the cabin, her gun aimed at Sydney. "You shouldn't take it so hard, Sydney. Every family has a black sheep. Yours just happens to have two."  
  
"What do you know about my mother?" Sydney asked.  
  
Anna smiled wickedly. "As much as I'd love to be the one to tell you… I must save it for another time. Your friend waits and the drugs I gave her will be wearing off soon. I graciously gave her something to make her forget her experience here. If you get her home quickly enough, she'll think she just had a nice, long sleep in the comfort of her own bed."  
  
Sydney tried in vain to see around Anna to where she was sure Francie was lying. Anna walked towards her and grabbed the envelope, sliding past Sydney and offering her, yet again that duplicitous grin. She leaned in, until her lips were hovering just over Sydney's chest and she said, "Why don't you be a darling and come out help dear Sydney get her valuable parcel home?"  
  
Sydney looked up in shock as Anna sidled past her. "I like him… he's much cuter than your *other* partner. Does your new job come with fringe benefits?"  
  
Sydney was speechless.  
  
"No? You should really renegotiate." With that she was gone.  
  
In the cabin, Sydney could hear Francie's soft moan. She ran in and found her friend, slumped over unconscious and tied to a wooden chair.  
  
"Vaughn, get in here, I need your help."  
  
"How did she know I was here?" he asked as he entered the cabin. Obviously, he had heard Anna's comments and decided to make himself known.  
  
Sydney shook her head, as she untied Francie. "I don't know, but now that K-Directorate knows I'm working with you, things are going to get a lot more interesting."  
  
(Sorry this chapter was short, but I wanted to get something out to you… more coming soon -- ps. Thanks for the GREAT feedback! Anything in particular you'd like to see happen next?) 


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